


Heat of the Moment

by ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Infidelity, Lust Potion/Spell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night of paperwork, coffee, and burning the midnight oil... it wasn't an unfamiliar occurrence. But add in a minor slip-up and a mistaken potion, and events were sure to take an interesting turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat of the Moment

"And remember, ladies, that for all of your lotions, potions, and notions, Intimate Unlimited can meet all of your romantic needs."

Madam Charlene, the purveyor of the aforementioned company, smiled broadly as she handed out catalogues to all the women attending her latest sales party, hosted by Angelina Weasley. A few of her in-laws and friends were in attendance, such as sisters-by-marriage Fleur, Audrey, Hermione and Ginny, plus Katie Bell Wood and Alicia Spinnet. 

Each new device and substance demonstrated by Madam Charlene elicited giggles all around and the occasional murmur of disapproval from either Hermione or Audrey. The rest, though, enjoyed the fun nature of the party, as well as the rather inappropriate array of refreshments, such as biscuits shaped like certain parts of the anatomy or glasses that said naughty things once the user had emptied the contents.

On their way out, Madam Charlene gifted all of them with a small bottle of her patented Passion Potion, which was ‘guaranteed to bring a whole new meaning of sexy to their intimacy'. Angelina and Katie joked about how their husbands would react to them bringing the substance home, whereas Alicia, the only unmarried one in the group, bartered with Hermione to procure a second bottle. Audrey was happy to part with hers in the same fashion.

Ginny, however, considered the bottle carefully. Generating the desire had never been a problem for her, but as of late, Harry had been working far too hard to feel like getting up to anything late at night. Half the time, he was asleep before he even made it to bed, passing out at his desk. It still remained to be seen whether he would particularly appreciate being covertly drugged into sex, but she was leaning toward the negative.

At home later that night, Ginny opened up the potion to pour it down the sink, but she stopped. Maybe if she simply presented him with it, he might not be averse to trying it. Then again, perhaps not. They had been married for sixteen years, so he might take it as a sign that she didn't think he loved her as much as she did him or that she questioned his virility at age thirty-eight, neither of which were the case at all.

There was no harm in keeping it. Maybe if _he_ found it, he could suggest trying it out to spice things up a bit. The worst thing he could do was dump it out as she had just been about to do. With that thought in mind, she re-corked the bottle and placed it in the potions cupboard, not right in front but still somewhere that might get it noticed. Why not?

  


**_The Next Day_ **

Removing his glasses, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to quell the headache that was brewing. He had been working on evaluations for nearly three days, and they were due the next day, despite the fact that he was only slightly more than halfway done. As he was interrupted every five minutes in office, Ginny had kindly offered to take Lily to The Burrow under the premise of visiting with Molly in order to give him the peace and quiet he so desperately needed to finish his work on time. Kingsley wasn't the type of bloke to nail his bollocks to his office door for being late on paperwork, but the thought of that consternating look of disappointment was almost worse, and Harry, having seen it only once before, wasn't eager for a repeat.

Hermione, having caught wind of his predicament, was coming over to help him with filling out the evaluation forms. Not only was her writing more legible than his, she was far speedier in clerical matters than he could have ever hoped to be. The fact that, as a highly ranked member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she had sufficient security clearance to see that sort of classified information helped matters, as well.

Not bothering to knock, Hermione strolled into his study and plopped down across from him, taking a stack of forms. Her face was rather pinched and emanated misery. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

"Splitting headache. Hugo has discovered The Troll Brothers, and it's all Ron's fault." She massaged her temples at the mere thought of it.

"Same here, minus the music thing." Harry vaguely recognised the name of one of the more popular wizard rock bands, as Ron was a fan of them, but thankfully, both James and Albus seemed to be skipping that particular phase thus far. He sympathised with Hermione, knowing how much she preferred order and soothing things after a long day at work, and Hugo seemed to be the creator of chaos when Ron was left to supervise. Not wanting to delay the blessed end of these evaluations any more than necessary, he said, "I suppose we should get started."

It didn't take long before Harry could no longer clearly see the page in front of him, such was the intensity of the pain dwelling behind his eyes. He knew he had one last headache potion left in the cabinet, and the time had come for it to be used. Walking almost blindly into the bathroom, he pulled the cupboard door open and squinted for the bottle that was the appropriate shape and colour. Grabbing it, he walked back to the study.

As he sat back down, Hermione looked up at him curiously. "What's that?"

"Headache potion," he said, popping the cork. Downing half of it, he offered her the rest, which she accepted.

It didn't take very long for him to realise that what he had just drunk and subsequently offered to Hermione hadn't been what he'd thought it was. First off, instead of the normal pungent flavours of coffee grounds with a touch of ammonia, it had a taste of candy floss and something unmentionable. This mystery brew was not relieving his headache, but it was instilling him with a feeling of euphoria that he would have typically associated with mind-altering drugs. Then again, his faculties didn't seem to be impaired, but it was becoming increasingly hot in the room.

Looking across the desk at Hermione, Harry could tell that she was experiencing a similar reaction. He saw her pull the collar of her shirt from her neck and fan her face with a pile of papers. A bead of sweat trickled into her cleavage, which had been left slightly exposed for a second through the gap in her buttons, and the sight made his body tighten in an extremely uncomfortable place. 

What the hell was going on? Never in his whole _life_ could he remember having this sort of attraction to Hermione, but here he was, his pants bulging like an untried teen-ager. One thing was certain, though, and it was that his headache was the furthest thing from his mind. More in the forefront was the becoming swell of her bottom lip and how her breasts strained against her shirt when she moved. The way her hair fell around her face gave it an almost angelic glow in the lamplight and perfectly complemented the golden sheen of her skin.

Somehow, Harry had ended up on his feet, and Hermione followed suit. His cognitive abilities all but gone, he said, "That might not have been headache potion." Looking at the bottle that was clutched tightly in her hand, Hermione bit that luscious bottom lip and whimpered. Harry knew that she had recognised it upon closer inspection. "What is it?"

"It's from Madam Charlene's party last night. It's a, er... marital aid." Her face, already coloured from the coil of fire inside of her that mirrored his own, flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet.

"Marital aid?" It took a while before Harry's addled brain could make the connection. "It's a love potion?" When she nodded, what was left of his sanity sank like a ship on rocks. He turned away from her so she couldn't see his embarrassing condition. This thing wasn't going to beat him, and it sure as hell wasn't going to rule him, no matter what. He had more self control than that, and it would take every modicum of it to defeat this very potent potion.

Behind him, Hermione said, "We can fight this, Harry. You've fought off the Imperius Curse, and we've both survived torture. A little bit of potion doesn't have to beat us."

"Yeah," he gasped, his ability to speak momentarily seized by the potion's effects. "We can do this." Even as he said that, however, he turned around as if controlled by a puppeteer. She was standing directly in front of him, her chest heaving as she expended large quantities of effort to fend off the onslaught of raw, naked need they both felt. "Nothing to it."

"Nothing to it," she repeated, barely louder than a whisper. They were both doing their best, but it was obvious that it wasn't working. With each verbal denial, their faces inched closer and closer together. They were angling toward disaster, and neither of them had the willpower to stop it. All that was left was release, and every one of their baser instincts knew how they should get it.

No longer able to stand it, Harry yanked Hermione toward him and smashed their lips together, hoping that the act would satiate some of his inner turmoil, but it did the complete opposite. He was now completely sure that he was lost — lost in Hermione. 

Answering his ardour with her own, her fingers slid into his hair, bringing them even closer, and the slight pulling sensation fuelled his rampaging lust. In reply, his fingers moved to the fastening of her shirt, tearing it apart and sending buttons flying in all directions. The primal action flung them even further into each other, deeper into that little shade of grey between right and wrong where they dwelt at the moment.

Garments hit the floor, carelessly thrown to the side by their merciless wearers, the necessity of feeling flesh on flesh too much for caution. With a new, glorious canvas available, lips and hands journeyed, no destination in mind yet certain of the outcome, exciting hitherto ignored nerves on their path.

Ripping her mouth from his, Hermione panted, "We can't do this. It's awful, and we'll betray Ron and Ginny."

 _Ginny_ , Harry's stupefied head echoed. _Mother of his children, his wife, his friend_. He loved her, forever and always. _Adoring, faithful, fiery Ginny._ But she wasn't there, sending him into a frenzy, inflicting his being with carnal rapture. Knowing the treacherous direction of his thoughts, he pictured her in his mind's eye, a slight dusting of freckles mellowed by age, her smooth, coppery mane cascading around her shoulders. Cinnamon eyes laughed and joked, even when she wasn't talking.

But even as he was trying to hold onto this image, freckles blended away, straight became rippled, red turned into brown, and spice melted into chocolate, darkening with desire. _Ginny_. The hips underneath his hands were definitely not Ginny, but those were the curves that beckoned to him and spiralled him into near insanity.

Wrong. It was wrong. Immoral. He could never be forgiven if anyone were to find out, and his marriage would essentially be over. His kids might hate him. He would lose his best friend. He would be alone, with nothing but a memory of an illicit encounter to see him through vacant, solitary days. When he walked amongst the masses, they would whisper about how the Boy-Who-Lived had committed the most flagrant of sins. He would be nothing.

_To hell with it._

Plunging further into the darkness, Harry dug his fingers into Hermione's bottom, lifting her enough so he could manoeuvre them backward toward the chaise along the wall. He sank into it with her straddling his lap, their most secret selves a sliver away. They were so close that not even a sheet of parchment could have separated them, yet he hesitated, waiting for that final confirmation to get lost inside of her.

  


* * *

  


There they sat, their heavy breaths mingling in the scant space between them, perspiration slicking their bodies. Nothing could stop them but them, and even that slight concession was seemingly forgone by her body's demands. The solitary thread of reality left in her mind was of Ron, but the more her hooded eyes saw of Harry, the more faded and distant that thread became, unravelling itself like an old tapestry gone to ruin, leaving nothing but black and blazing green in its stead.

Her decision made by a combination of chemistry and dementia, Hermione lifted her hips and pushed herself upon Harry’s pulsing arousal. Rocking back and forth, she stoked the fire that was raging inside both of them. Cries of abandon filled the room and resounded in their stunted consciences, but the velleity of that particular function prohibited it — or anything — from stopping their marauding frenzy.

Not satisfied with the pace, Harry rolled them both over so she lay flat on her back and he was now pushing them nearer and nearer to the throes of ecstasy. As each thrust moved heaven and earth around her, Hermione opened her mouth and hoarsely called out his name, her voice wrought with that glaring necessity that only he could fulfil.

Faster and stronger, flesh and sweat collided, inciting wave after delectable wave of pungent thrill inside of her, willing her forward in a rhythm matching his, and in one final, desperate moment, they careened over the edge. That insistent necessity began to drift away, leaving them entangled and exhausted in each other's arms.

She didn't dare look at him. Her face was probably rent with self-hatred and regret, and his likely was, as well. In their lives, they had seen and heard indescribable evil, and they had both done things that they weren't proud of, but this night was as if damnation had descended upon them in full force. They were broken and fallacious, the epitome of deviance, the scent of lovemaking surrounding them in a guilty haze. "What do we do now?" she asked weakly.

"I don't know," he whispered into her ear, his body still not parting with hers. "There really isn't a right way to go about this."

His voice was so full of self-loathing, and it strangled her pulse right in her chest to hear it. "I'm sorry."

"I know." They fell silent for a while before he said, "We'll have to tell them eventually."

"Probably."

"Not tonight, though."

"Agreed," she said, relieved that he felt the same as she did.

At last, his head lifted from her shoulder, his glasses askew and his eyes shining with unshed tears. They begged for penance, so much so that she wished she could give him the absolution he sought. That was probably why she never expected his lips to claim hers in the calmest and lightest of kisses.

Their future may have been reduced to ashes, but that night was still theirs.

  


**_The Following Morning_ **

Hermione had left after their second go-round. It had been nearly impossible, but somehow after she'd left, Harry managed to fight off his latent arousal by finishing the work he had started. In fact, he hadn't left the room save for a trip to the loo. 

Plucking the empty bottle from the bin, Harry examined that mocking little vessel. It was hard to believe that such a small bit of potion, hardly the size of a shot of whiskey, could be so damaging. Shouldn't there be some sort of caution on the label, like, ‘Warning: May wreck homes.'

Harry examined the label, prepared to be furious with himself in case that very phrase was on there in some respect. His heart nearly stopped when he did find a warning on it in the tiniest of print, but it wasn't what he thought it would be.

‘This product has been specially designed for the safety of both parties. It is only activated by a specific pheromone, which solely comes from pre-existing sexual attraction to prevent unlawful use on unwilling participants.'

That did it, then. There was no way he could tell Ginny about this now. Quickly, he scratched out a message to Hermione.

_We need to talk  
_


End file.
